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mykneeshurt · 10 months

Text

Worship

Photo screen grabbed from Asty on TikTok (could not find this church anywhere ffs)

Priest AU

Sister Valeria Garza x AFAB!reader

Warnings - minors DNI, 18+, explicit smut, Heavy use of religious imagery, sexualising religion (Christianity/Roman Catholicism), so much smut and blasphemy, all chapters are explicit but all consensual

———

The city of Las Almas at night was beautiful, houses dotted around the mountains, lights twinkling like the stars above. The streets filled with music and laughter, guitar notes a drift on the cool summer breeze. A Church sat in the middle of one of plazas, two tall towers hugged the entrance. Lit up in the evening sky a tribute to the almighty God.

It was at this Church you met Valeria. She was one of the nuns you had befriended on your volunteer trip. You both clicked instantly, like a moth to a flame.

And it was on this summers evening you found yourself sat across from her, sipping wine sharing a plate of tacos and molote. Taking a sip of your Dolcetto you eyed her from over your glass. She sat back in the chair, legs crossed with her elbow resting behind her. Her umber eyes captivated you in the warm orange glow of the street lights. Everything she did, she did with confidence, but with a silent, respectful demand. Her entire presence was captivating.

While you were drinking her in you completely missed her ordering two shots of tequila. The waitress placed them down in front of you, giving you both a warm smile. Valeria nodded at the clear liquid, urging you to drink. ‘Val I can’t, this stuff makes me gag’ you laughed.

She rolled her eyes as she traced the rim of the glass around her plump lips. ‘Ah, but you’ve not had this tequila. This isn’t the shit you get where you’re from.’ She held up the small glass to your lips, ‘take it, do it for me mi vida.’ You looked at her with furrowed brows, but inside an inferno was raging. You saw how her eyes slowly watched your lips as you spoke, how she purred her pet names to you, how each one of her movements towards you were deliberate yet poised.

‘You’re not a normal nun are you?’ You asked as you took the glass from her fingers. Her skin gently grazing over yours. ‘Drink it’ she demanded, lips pulled back over her teeth as she ran her tongue over them. ‘Fine!’ You huffed, causing her to laugh. You threw the liquid back and swallowed, pleasantly surprised by the lack of burning in your throat. You still didn’t like it, but it was a hell of a lot better than the shit you usually drank.

‘Well?’ She questioned, eyebrows raised as she drank her own. Not even phased by the alcohol. ‘Alright, it’s not bad’ you admitted reluctantly, ‘now, answer my question.’

She smiled as she thumbed the rim of her wine glass, ‘no, you could say I’m not your run of the mill nun.’ Her eyes met yours and they suddenly seemed darker, intense. ‘I believe God gave me this body to enjoy the life he has given me.’

She scooted her chair closer to yours, your knees now touching as she leant in resting her chin on her hand. ‘I believe not to enjoy the pleasures he put on this earth is to deny his very existence.’ She leaned in closer to you still, watching your lips, watching how your breathing changed, how your thighs tightened. ‘And what are they?’ You asked, almost breathless.

‘Hmmmm’ she sighed, ‘I like to eat, I like to drink, I like to swear …’ her hand found your thigh, nails tracing over your skin just below your shorts. ‘And most importantly?’ Without even realising you had leant into her, noses barely touching, completely entranced by her. ‘Most importantly …’ she whispered, tongue hitting the roof of her mouth with every word, ‘most importantly, I like to fuck.’

And this was how you found yourself on your back, thighs spread with Valeria looking up at you as she ate your pussy. Her nails dug into your skin, small crescent shaped dents littered your body as she hummed at your taste. ‘Fuck Val’ you sighed as you rolled your hips, pulling her hair between your fingers.

You felt her smile against your folds, teeth gently nipping at your cunt. Her tongue made languid strokes against your clit as she added her finger. Her now black eyes watched as you arched your back, eyes glassy and dazed, fingers wrapped in her sheets. She said a quiet prayer in her native tongue against you, her breath fanning along your slit.

Pulling away she kissed her way up your abdomen, leaving a fire in her wake. She ran her tongue over your nipple, nipping it gently between her teeth causing you to hiss. She placed gentle kisses in the crux of your neck, hands gripping at your body beneath her, lingering on your curves, tracing your soft skin.

Wrapping your leg around her waist you pulled her closer to you, bringing her lips to yours. The kiss was messy, tongues swiping over one another’s as you whined into each others mouths. ‘It’s like God made you for me’ she panted as she kneaded your skin beneath her.

Feeling a sudden influx of panic you cupped her face, worry written over your face. ‘Won’t you get in trouble for this? For all the other stuff we did?’ Valeria took your hand in hers, taking your fingers tips in between her lips as she kissed them. ‘It doesn’t matter what we did mi vida, only what they can prove.’ You sighed, letting the relief wash over you as she kissed you once more.

Her body rolled on top of yours, hips grinding into your thigh, wanting to release the ache that swelled inside her core. Throwing her head back she palmed at your breasts, desperate moans dripping from her lips. Her skin shone in the dull light of the bedroom as she moved, her body fluid and pliable. ‘Let me worship you cariña, let me show you how I praise God.’

You dragged your nails along her back, leaving a path of crimson destruction in your wake. She arched under your touch, hissing between her teeth as she gripped your hips, jaw slack, eyes screwed shut. She looked almost godly on top of you, the light illuminating her body, her silhouette swaying in the summer heat.

The devil disguised as an angel.

You could tell she was close, her breathing became more laboured, deep and breathless. Her hips slowed, thighs clamped around your own as she leant down, resting her forehead on yours. ‘Oh! … mi vida’ she breathed, ‘please … please … take it … I’m so close.’ Placing your hands on her hips you guided her to her orgasm, she whispered a secret prayer in Spanish, a prayer of thanks, of love, of adoration into your lips.

Her voice strained and cracked as she came, short sharp breaths of ecstasy burst from her throat. You eagerly inhaled them as if they were the very life line you depended on. ‘Sound so pretty’ you cooed as you held her down, as you forced her to become overstimulated. She smiled as she bit her lip, kissing you deeply.

Pulling away she caressed your cheek, ‘I want to watch, I want to see you lose yourself, I want to see you praise him.’ Rolling off you she pressed her body against yours, fingertips tracing your hips, your stomach, your thighs. Gently she guided your hand to your pussy, placing your fingers over your clit. ‘Let me see … please’ she whispered.

Slowly you started to make firm little circles, feeling the pleasure wash over you. Your arousal coated your fingers and you sped up, feeling your body begin to tense. ‘Hmmmm’ she cooed, ‘put them inside, feel what god gave you.’ Doing as you were told you slipped your fingers into your core, it was warm and inviting. Valeria watched as you fucked yourself, watching your arousal coat your skin.

She kissed your neck, her breath fanning over that sensitive spot just by your collarbone. There was a sudden change of sensation as you pleasured yourself, looking down you saw she had placed her fingers over your clit, manipulating the bundle of nerves beneath her. ‘So pretty mi vida’ she purred, ‘does it feel good?’

‘Yes’ you whispered as you felt your orgasm build, rapidly.

You rolled your hips as she increased the speed of her fingertips, ‘I want to hear you’ she ordered. Allowing yourself to moan a little louder you descended into the abyss of euphoria. ‘Good girl’ she purred as she bit her lip. Your orgasm ripped through your core ‘God! Fuck!’ You panted as you came around your fingers, your pussy pulsating, muscles contracting as you writhed in the bedsheets.

‘Yes, praise him’ she drawled as she watched you come undone. Cupping your face she pulled you to look at her, smiling against your lips as she kissed you. Ever so slowly you came down from your high, sighing deeper into the kiss. Removing your fingers you placed them in between you, both tongues swiping over them savouring your taste.

‘Fuck Val’ you muttered, ‘that was incredible. I think I could get used to praying like this.’ She hummed as she placed her leg over your abdomen, pulling you in tighter. The warmth of her body setting your heart alight. ‘Mmmm, I knew you’d like my way of worshipping.’

———

A/N - Jesus Christ I struggled with this chapter, so I’m sorry if it’s not up to par with my normal work 🙃

Taglist - @tiredmetalenthusiast @glitterypirateduck @lollycotton @00ops1e @cowyolks @villainsoftheweek @soapyghost @ghostslillady

#call of duty #mw2 fanfic #valeria x you #mw2 valeria #valeria smut #valeria mw2 #valeria x reader #valeria garza #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty smut #fan fic smut #call of duty mwii

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wren-dy-flowergarden · 1 year

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hello! i really enjoyed your newest sebek fluff that you wrote its rlly good! 🫶 i love it!

if you have the time, maybe write another one ? maybe one where sebek takes reader back to his hometown where they have a little cafe date in the cold weather? super cute cozy stuff 🥺 tysm

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ A/N: Awww thank you for the request! I hope that I'm able to fully give you the same Sebek energy he is so funny. Cozy Coffee dates are my favorite trope every- and also flower shop AU hehe. I really hope you enjoy this!!! I tried a new style also, so let me know if you life this as well!!! Request are still open! *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ Sebek x f!reader *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ WC: 680words, bulletpoint story *ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Tags: fluff, cuteness overload, comfy coffee dates disguised as invading an evil castle, light teasing

───────────✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧*.✦ *.✧.*✦ ────────────

When Sebek invites you to his hometown- Briar Valley- it comes as a welcomed surprise. He talks of his hometown with such enthusiasm- the training range, the lakes his grandfather used to take him, the best places to hunker down on stormy nights.

It was cute the way he stopped by Ramshackle to help you pack, holding up mismatched pair of gloves, exclaiming that due to the number of holes in them, they would not keep you warm. Neither will your thin long sleeves... Neither will your ankle socks... The next day you see him rush in with an oversized jacket that hit your kneecaps, a warm, cream-colored hat, and gloves that matched his.

You can see the way his eyes shine when you step out of the mirror, close to night. Dark trees contrast against snow-topped mountains, the city itself bustling with the use of magic. Gems embedded into their heaters leave the cobblestone path clean of any sleet that may cause injury. It felt like a city made of fairytales.

Sebek sees the way your mouth is open in awe and tuts his head in victory.

“See human! Nothing can compare to the magnificence of Brair Valley!” His hand extends as if decorated the whole plaza by himself, smile widening, “Not even Night Raven Academy can compare to this brilliance.” You just laugh, tiny pearls of sound echo out of you as he pulls you, side by side explaining each detail of his childhood.

How he hit his knee on the fountain there and dented the fountain itself. His favorite candy store now turned into a small grocery pop-up his mother would take him and his siblings. A café that the grownups would never let him or his childhood friends enter because they make too much of a ruckus. He said it looked like the castle to conquer as they trained as small squires back then.

You can see his point. With a dark green roof and muted brown paint, painted against it were murals of gargoyles and delicate rose flowers blooming by the windows almost alive. Tacked to the forehead of the door you see the sign open- warm orange lights calling you from the cold outside, no matter how many layers you wore. You tug his sleeve, breaking Sebek from his monologue, “Let’s go in. You know- to fulfill your childhood dreams.”

It doesn’t take much to convince him when you make it a challenge and he sputters how he is a real knight now that he is ready for anything now trained, and how he could protect Lord Malleus-

A chaste kiss to his lips for silence, you pull him behind you opening the front door as you lead into a comfy café. Antique wooden chairs that were decorated with mini gargoyles, a candle- lantern spiny lazily with small- what you can assume fairies keeping the fire warm. You take the table next to the fireplace, Sebek hates it cold.

Lifting the menu, you see delicately painted pictures of lattes to teas- you thought that this be a bar considering what he said about grownups not letting him in before. Sebek brows are furrowed as well as he flips the menu back and forward- he must also have the same confusion as you. It’s too cute not to tease!

You reach over the table and take his hands, “Stop that. I know we are at the center of the evil headquarters but that doesn’t mean you can give yourself away oh knight.” Sebek scoffs but doesn’t pull away from your warmth, “What can a weakling life you do to protect I?” You give a soft smile as you pull his hands closer to your side of the table, “Why I’m much stronger than you?” As you do you lean over to kiss both of his knuckles, and he sputters retracting his hands like fire touched them. Another laugh leaves you as you pick up the menu again, Sebek squirming in his seat, “Now, what shall we order?”

#.wwrenwrites #request open #sebek x reader #twst x reader #twst headcanons #twst x you #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #twst imagines #twst drabble

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legobiwan · 4 months

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Mario and Luigi "no one is going to hurt you"?

This one...ballooned. I tried to get it out last night, but fell asleep during the endeavor. This is an attempt to explain/rationalize/make sense of some of the behaviors we see during TTYD, especially as it concerns Mario and Luigi. I'll say right now, neither brother is his best at this point, and I have a bit of a hypothesis as to where each of them may have been, emotionally, during this game. I think TTYD is a turning point for Mario, while Luigi's emotional lynchpin comes, to no surprise, after the events of SPM. Anyway, I'm not going to try and edit this any more than the perfunctory attempt I made. Here you go. A Mario-centric drabble that is most definitely not a drabble.

~~~~~~~~~

My dear Mario,

I have finally learned what the legendary treasure is. It is the spirit of a demon! The X-Nauts plan to revive this thousand-year-old monster and use its power to take over the world! They’re collecting the Crystal Stars so they can open the Thousand-Year-Door..they’ll find this demon’s spirit..but the only thing that can keep it locked away is the Crystal Stars themselves! You must not let them get the Crystal Stars! Please, Mario...you must put a stop to their horrible plans!

-Princess Peach-

Mario rubbed at his eyes, scraping away a week’s work of fatigue.

Shit.

When Peach had first told him the X-Nauts (and what a stupid name that was) were planning on taking over the world, he had laughed it off. Ever since he had landed in the Mushroom Kingdom, every fifth jabroni from the castle to the Darklands had been some kind of aspiring universal tyrant, babbling on and on about taking over realms, how their new regime would be the mightiest, how they should fear me or fear my army or fear my power, all accompanied by cackling laughter suitable for Saturday morning cartoon. The threats were white noise to him now, another meaningless boast in the endless series of hopped-up, dent-headed, peas-for-brains bad guys who popped out of the brickwork like potholes on the Cross Bronx.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t been taking this whole adventure seriously before this. After all, the last time he got sent on a quest to find stars, he ended up facing off against an army of sentient weaponry bent on…well, yeah. World domination.. But those guys had actually meant business, less wanting to rule the world than reforge it, in the most literal sense, in their image. Hell, Geno wouldn’t have been sent down all the way down from Star Heaven or whatever it had been unless Smithy and his crew were the real thing.

But now Peach was kidnapped and demons were involved. And they needed the Crystal Stars to trap the demon, but those same stars would also release the demon in the first place. Mario pulled his cap close to his eyes, sagging against the public notice board in Rogueport Square, the rotten wood protesting under his added weight. Across the plaza, the gallows swayed in tandem with an oncoming breeze, the smell of spoiled fish and brine wafting over and mixing with the lingering odor of cheap booze and sweat that was the hallmark of Rogueport’s business center.

Delightful.

Vivian had remarked, once they resurfaced from that whole mess in Twilight Town, that the port city had a certain grimy charm to it. Mario huffed, kicking away a crumpled can of Banditbar Ale. Yeah, this place had charm, all right. All the charm of a Staten Island landfill.

“Why yes, Vivian, I spent close to twenty years as the premiere actress with the Mushroom Repertory Theater, although back when we first started, it was known only as “The Toad Troupe.” Flurrie laughed in her distinctive trill, her voice resonating from what Mario placed as the archway leading to the west side of Rogueport. “A silly name, but our founder was devoid of that creative spark that captures the imagination and whisks the audience away on a journey with you. Of course, he was a rather talented fundraiser.”

Mario grunted, sliding around to the backside of the noticeboard, which was covered in layers of colorful graffiti and three decades worth of dirt. One bright, recent message spelled out a rather graphic enthusiasm for certain body parts, ones Mario wasn’t even certain Goombas had. Not that he was about to ask. Half the population here would shank him for even thinking of the question. Goombella would drop a book on his head.

He slumped at the thought of the petite, boisterous grad student. Goombella, Flurrie, Koops - even Yoshnar. Not one of them had questioned it, had shown any suspicion that the Mario they were celebrating with, were feasting with in Twilight Town was not, in fact, their supposed friend. Sure, they commented here and there that Mario was acting a little strange, was a bit more bombastic than normal, but no one stood up and announced, that’s not our guy!

Granted, he had only known these people for a week. Not nearly enough time to get the measure of a person in the real world, but that had never hindered his traveling companions before. Geno and Mallow seemed to think the world of him.

Mario curled his fist. He should have interrogated Doopliss when he had the chance, should have pulled the truth right out from under his smug-faced bedsheets. Was it a mimicry of only the body, or did Doopliss’s magic also copy the whole of a man, as well?

And why did his friends believe that egotistical, grandstanding fraud had been him?

“Where is Mario?” Flurrie asked, her voice closer now than it had been a minute ago. She had a habit of elongating her vowels to the point of absurdity, so Mario became Mahrio, emphasis on the ah. He had given up trying to correct her after the first hour of their acquaintance. Some things weren’t worth the fight.

Mario snuck a careful look around the edge of the noticeboard, biting his lip as a mess of dirty splinters poked through his skin. His traveling companions were gathered near the entrance to the Toad Bros Bazaar, Koops worrying at his hands as he fretted about Mario being kidnapped, or worse, continuing to Keelhaul Key without them.

“Don’t worry, Koops,” Vivian soothed. “I’m sure he’s just gathering information or reading an electronic message from Peach.”

Goombella looked up from her notebook with a small frown. “I hope it’s not important intel. I need to write that data down so I can report back to Professor Frankly.”

“I can’t go back to Petalburg without…” The voices faded out of earshot, the door to the shop closing with a brash jingle.

Mario unclenched his teeth, letting out an unsteady breath. He’d have to come back with them at some point. Maybe Doopliss saw something in him he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, but Mario knew he’d be in way over his head if tried to take on the X-Nauts and this demon alone. Do like you always do, Mario. Suck it up, put on a smile, and say as little as possible. It had gotten him this far, whatever that counted for. Now, as for this Flavio -

“Hey, bro!”

A hand clapped itself on his shoulder. Enemy, his mind blared, Mario grabbing at the interloper’s wrist, spinning the man around until he slammed into the announcement board with a pained “Oof!” Not one to let an advantage go to waste, Mario lunged forward, pushing his forearm into the man’s chest, close enough to his attacker’s trachea to leave no question as to the unspoken threat.

“Mario, what the hell?” A familiar voice squeaked.

Anxiety spiked in Mario’s gut. Luigi? What in the world was his brother doing in -

Mario closed his eyes, letting out a soft hiss between his teeth as the realization hit. Damnit. The Waffle Kingdom. Princess Cannoli or whatever her name was. Mario released his hold on his brother, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took a step back. I don’t have time for this. Luigi shouldn’t have been in Rogueport at all, somehow making his way to the crime-infested city in the days after Mario had received the letter from Peach asking him to come investigate a treasure map.

And look where that got her. Kidnapped by aliens with crappy names. He knew Luigi could handle himself, or at least, he could in Brooklyn. Coming to the Mushroom Kingdom had done a number on his brother’s confidence, however, and whatever predilection for gangly awkwardness Luigi had had before had grown since they vanished from New York.

He didn’t have time to protect his brother and save Peach and save the world from a demon.

“Bro?” Luigi reached a tentative hand towards Mario’s shoulder.

It didn’t add up, this whole Waffle Kingdom business. Not that he didn’t believe in Luigi, but nothing over the past year had convinced him his brother was ready to set out on his own, the whole incident with the Boos aside. Now he was on a quest which, on the surface, sounded far too close to Mario’s own exploits in trying to gather the seven crystal stars. He knew his brother could be insecure, but this was really…

Mario’s eyes went wide as he slapped away his brother’s hand, planting his feet into a defensive stance, fists raised.

It was Doopliss. It had to be. Had the identity-pilfering ghost been following him from the beginning? Or were those Shadow Sirens working for him, feeding him enough tidbits about Luigi to make a convincing copy? That would account for his brother’s strange tales, the majority he didn’t have the stamina to focus through, there being too much on his mind with all the plans and kidnappings and cursed chests.

“I beat you before, you son of a bitch, and I’ll do it again,” Mario growled, pushing his sleeves up his arms. “Give him back.” He needed to get this over with now, get his brother in his own body as soon as possible so Mario could track down the last stars. Damnit, why did Luigi have to wander off like this?

“Woah!” Luigi held both his palms up at shoulder height, scrambling backwards, knocking over a trio of half-filled bottles with a bright clang as he came up against the graffiti-covered noticeboard. A pungent yellow stream seeped from one of the fallen bottles, trickling into the eroded mortar between uneven cobblestones.

“No one’s going to hurt you, Mario. There’s - “ Luigi grabbed a tuft of hair peeking out from under his cap. “There’s no one here but me. Well, me and Torque. And the rest of Rogueport.” Luigi gave an awkward laugh. “And, you know, Torque’s not here here, he’s inside the bar. But you get what I mean.” He gave his brother an uncertain smile, holding two thumbs-up in front of his chest.

“Where have you been? What were you doing before this?” Mario demanded, voice rising.

The miserable droop in his brother’s shoulders was unmistakable. “I…told you already? The volcano, the sacrifice? Blooey and Jerry and the bridal dress? I mean, I know it’s not as important as what you’re doing…” Luigi trailed off, finding sudden interest in the variety of grisly stains tattooed on the ground, tracing a disturbingly crimson outline with his foot.

Mario grit his teeth. That was something Luigi would say, right down to the shaky little inflections. Was his brother always this insecure? Had he been ignoring something deeper going on with Luigi for the past year? Something unpleasant curdled in Mario’s gut. He hadn’t wanted to face the fact that Doopliss mirrored his identity, warts and all. Was this the Luigi his brother saw in his reflection every day? Did Luigi even know how sad this looked?

Maybe it was Doopliss. Then again, from what little he remembered from his brother’s stories about his supposed Waffle Kingdom exploits, his own traveling companions were less than impressed with Luigi’s tactics, which seemed to be the literal definition of stumbling into good luck.

As much as he hated to think it, Doopliss probably had better things to do than wreak havoc on a quest that may or may not have its basis in reality. It was true Luigi had made an astonishing number of enemies in a short period, but Princess Eclair seemed like something straight out of one of those adventure books they had liked so much as kids. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of his brother hanging around Rogueport, but as long as all this Waffle Kingdom stuff was harmless - well, it would at least keep Luigi out of the underlevels and far, far away from the Thousand Year Door and whatever evil lay behind it.

The communication square in his back pocket vibrated. It was probably Goombella demanding to know where the hell he was. Mario brought his arms to his side, stretching out his fingers. He needed to focus. Whatever happened with Doopliss was in the past and he could waste away his time navel-gazing once this entire ordeal was over.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Mario stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Luigi’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Luigi. It’s - “ Mario pursed his lips, weighing his words. “A lot has happened in the last few days.”

Luigi let out a watery chuckle, running his sleeve under his nose. “Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged, gaze still fixed to the ground.

Great, like your brother needed another kick to the ego. Way to go, asshole. Mario dug his fingers into Luigi’s shoulder. Maybe Doopliss’s replication of him hadn’t been that far off the mark, after all.

“Hey, Lou,” he gave his brother a gentle shake. “Why don’t you introduce me to your new friend? Squort or Morque, was it?”

“Torque,” his brother mumbled.

“Torque! Great! Let’s go meet him!” Mario said too brightly, taking his brother by the arm, all but dragging him towards Podley’s bar.

“Come on, Mario, you don’t have to - “ Luigi huffed, trying to pull himself out of his brother’s octopus-like grip. “I know you don’t want to - “

Mario shoved the door to the bar open, wrangling Luigi inside, depositing his brother next to a Spike Top with a wrench on his head. The little creature made a series of rapid clicks with its mouth, somehow conveying annoyance without uttering a single intelligible word or facial expression. The Spike Top glowered at his brother, if the dead, beady-eyed stare could be called that, before turning around with an exaggerated shuffle.

Six to one, that’s Torque, Mario mused, feeling a momentary pang of sympathy for his brother. Oh Luigi, we have to talk about this one of these days. But that was for later. After the crystal stars, after Peach was safe, after the world was saved. Right now, he needed a minute to collect himself, to form a plan to find Flavio and get to Keelhaul Key, and an excuse to give his companions for his sudden absence.

“Hey Lou, is that your friend?” Mario gestured at the little Spike Top. He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “How about you tell me that story?”

Luigi eyed Torque warily, the Spike Top making a slight turn so its face was again visible. Luigi gave a sheepish wave in his direction, Torque responding with a loud click of its jaw and a series of buzzes that reminded Mario of a horde of angry cicadas.

“Heh, he’s excited to hear it again, too,” Mario pressed on, willing himself to be oblivious to the mounting tension between the odd pair.

“Well,” Luigi rubbed at the back of his neck, avoiding looking anywhere near Torque. “If you’re sure…”

“Surer than sure!” Mario exclaimed with fake enthusiasm, throwing his hands up like he was tossing two baseballs into the air.

His brother gave a small smile, slipping his thumbs behind the straps of his overalls as he uncurled his defensive hunch, voice dropping into a more comfortable storytelling baritone. “Okay, then. It all started like this. Just as our boat arrived on Circuit Island…”

Mario let his brother’s tale wash over him, making appropriate sounds of acknowledgement when necessary. He knew this lapse would come back to bite him in the ass later, but he’d rather have a world he could fight with his brother in than no world at all. He took in a long breath through his nose, holding it at the top for five seconds before releasing it in the opposite manner, careful to not make it sound as if he were sighing in annoyance at his brother’s narrative.

Finding Flavio was his first task. And messaging Goombella, although he was tempted to put the inevitable tongue-lashing off for another few minutes. Flavio first, he decided. The name was familiar, and sworn he had heard it bandied about when he first arrived in Rogueport, barreling through every shop and back-alley headquarters he could find in a blind panic. He knew he needed to find someone who worked on a ship, some sea-faring type, although in this town, that could be anybody from a pirate to a fortune teller to a criminal on the lam.

It wasn’t like he could just walk around asking if anyone had seen a man with a peg-leg and eyepatch. For as quirky as the Mushroom Kingdom could be, it rarely conformed to his Earth-bound stereotypes.

“The Skuuuuul Captaaaaaaaaain!” a boisterous voice warbled from a corner table. Mario made a perfunctory nod at his brother - yes, I’m listening - scanning each of the bar patrons until he landed on a short, well-dressed man teetering on the back two legs of his chair.

“Festiiiivaaaaal!” he bellowed in discordant tones, hugging a bright red gemstone in the shape of a skull with one atm, raising a half-full mug of Chuckola with the other.

Then again, maybe he didn’t need to go around asking about pirates, seeing as one landed in his proverbial lap. The knots in Mario’s stomach unraveled, each freed line replaced by a bit of fluttering optimism he hadn’t felt since his victories in the Glitzville Pit.

Doopliss was out of the picture. His companions were back and his brother, if not exactly happy, was at least distracted and, more importantly, safe. The man with the fluffy white cravat and maroon jacket caressed the cheekbones of the skull gemstone, singing another loud nonsense verse into its ear.

Mario let himself smile. He was going to come out on top of this, hell and high water.

#hello there #writing #mario #luigi #ttyd #i dunno guys this is what my brain came up with so here you are #this all started from an idea i had about Mario feeling super insecure after the whole doopliss incident #anyway i won't get to publish anything else today but be on the lookout tomorrow for the next edition!#thank you all for the asks it's really helping to get me bak in shape!

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strongermonster · 5 months

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one of my favourite times of year is around now, when the geese are out in full force, and every shop in every plaza has to put a sign up that's like "PLEASE WATCH FOR AGGRESSIVE GEESE."

one of the lads at work has a new car and he's got it all scuffed up with wax so the angry male will stop pecking his own reflection and denting his car doors.

the pizza place next to me that gets really hot and usually props the back door open for air has to roll out the netting screen so we don't have a repeat of a few years ago when the goose helped itself inside and caused a whole health and safety debacle.

my grocery store has scarecrows hanging up by the automatic doors to keep the geese at bay. (doesn't really work)

my walk home from work includes a couple trails and a path that cuts across the high school track field, where there's regular warnings to only use one earbud so you can be aware if the geese are attacking from behind.

we are being held hostage, and i for one enjoy it immensely

#jj stuff

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cncowitcher · 4 months

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18. ENZO VOGRINCIC IMAGINE

ᡣ𐭩 ─ enzo vogrincic × leitora.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ gênero: divertido. 🪁

ᡣ𐭩 ─ número de palavras: 357.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ notas da autora: oioi meus aneizinhos de saturno, como vão? espero que gostem viu? se cuidem e bebam água, um beijo. 😽💌

Lost On You da LP tocava no volume máximo da JBL que a namorada de Vogrincic segurava pela alça.

O casal havia comprado uma bicicleta de dois lugares e decidiram sair no fim da tarde com ela pelas ruas de Montevidéu, para aproveitar o sol que fazia e também fazer um pequeno piquenique.

Enzo usava um óculos escuro, camisa e short pretos e um Air Force branco nos pés. Já a brasileira estava com um short alfaiataria, uma camiseta preta com uma foto do Pedro Pascal escrito "I love my boyfriend" ─ ambas ela havia comprado da Shein ─, um All Star vermelho cano alto e uma mochila pequena nas costas com alguns lanches caseiros e veganos para eles comerem e sucos naturais de limão e goiaba.

─ A lombada, Enzo! ─ A garota grita com o namorado, tirando risadas do mesmo.

O mais velho passa com tudo em cima da lombada e olha para sua garota por cima do ombro, freando a bicicleta.

─ Ainda tá viva? ─ Um sorriso de lado se formou nos seus lábios.

Revirando os olhos e abaixando um pouco o volume da JBL, a moça responde:

─ Tô bem, mas vai com calma aí!

─ Chiquita, chiquita... Ontem a noite você não me pediu pra ir com calma, se lembra?

Arregalando um pouco os olhos e desviando o olhar, a garota novamente coloca o volume da JBL no máximo, fazendo Vogrincic soltar uma risada alta e voltar a pedalar junto a brasileira.

Após alguns minutos, S/n e Enzo chegaram na Plaza Zabala ─ um dos parques em Montevidéu ─, o mais velho procurou um lugar com sombra e achou rapidamente um perto de uma árvore.

Depois que estacionou a bicicleta, Vogrincic pegou a mochila que sua mulher carregava e a caixa de som, que agora tocava Tu Geografia dos Indios.

Enzo olhou para um lugar perto da árvore em que estavam perto, entrelaçou seus dedos nos da garota e sorriu para ela.

─ Partiu mini piquenique? ─ Perguntou o uruguaio mordendo os lábios.

─ Partiu mini piquenique! ─ Concordou a mulher com um sorriso no rosto sem mostrar os dentes.

#imagines da nana 💡#enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic fanfic #enzo vogrincic imagine #enzo vogrincic smut #enzo vogrincic x you #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic x leitora #enzo vogrincic one shot #a sociedade da neve #la sociedad de la nieve #society of the snow #lsdln cast #lsdln x reader #lsdln smut #lsdln imagine #lsdln fanfic #pt br #cncowitcher

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aerialsquid · 17 days

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FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 2: Horizon

This is some OC lore (relating to family of Kuwagata, @magitek-witch 's WoL), pay it no mind.

Into this tiny, tiny vessel, Victor had poured time, aether, medicine, the best magitek equipment the Empire cared to let its provinces have, and so much sleep that he was near to weeping with exhaustion. Now, only five bells past midnight, he was sharing the one thing he had left.

He'd exhausted what mediocre medical training they'd given him before shipping him out to Werlyt, and now was relying on something far less Imperial. His aunt had been a midwife, and his mother had six children, and he had been racking his brains trying to remember what little he'd managed to overhear from them before he left for the army. Skin to skin contact was important, though he'd long forgotten the reason why. The warmth, perhaps, or the comfort of another presence. The mother's skin was best, of course, but that…

Well, that would never hold warmth again. Victor had tried. Trying wasn't enough.

He held the tiny form pressed between his jacket and bare chest, slouched on a pile of linens too threadbare to be put to other use. The little nubbins of keratin on the sides of her head left little dents in hsi flesh. There were no spare beds here. There were barely spare chairs. Every so often he checked down the opening in his jacket to make sure the infant was still breathing.

She was so quiet. None of his siblings had ever been this quiet. It scared him, to think he could be distracted for a moment and look down to find the infant had quietly slipped into the night after her mother. Every moment she lived was hope - there would be a tipping point where her fragile body would rally itself. He just had to get her there. He was so, so tired, but the thought of stopping when he'd come this far was unthinkable.

Victor curled his arms closer around himself and stared resolutely out through the tiny glass window that offered a view across the plaza to the broad ocean spread out below a sky that was agonizingly slow to brighten. In another hour there would be sunlight. That would be another hour she had lived. Another hour closer to the tipping point.

Just one more hour. Please.

#ffxivwrite2024 #son yaoi

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tealmaskmybeloved · 5 months

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Toxic Consequences AU: Chapter 3

An Offer

(As always, notes will be under the cut. Enjoy and feel free to send an ask if you want to!)

Kieran was in shock. How... how were the Loyal 3 back?! Why?! Was... Kieran responsible for this?

Maybe when he punched the shrine... but how would that work? The shrine had some dents and scratches due to the people and Pokémon accidently damaging it, and the trio were never revived....

Maybe the mask was responsible?

Kieran was snapped out of his thoughts as he got a better look at them.

They were different than what the townsfolk depicted them as, although that might be due to the people's warped perspective of the trio.

Okidogi was the biggest of the three. Instead of having a bright green fur color like his hero depiction, he had dark gray fur with green coloring. There were scars over the dog Pokémon's body, likely due to the fatal encounter with Ogerpon. Around Okidogi's neck was a bright pink chain. Some parts of it cracked and oozed a purple liquid.

Munkidori was next to Okidogi. The monkey was the smallest of the three. He had the same coloring as Okidogi, but with blue markings instead of green. Munkidori also had a bit of an enlarged brain, and his eyes seemed like they were constantly looking into the future. Around Munkidori's head was the same pink chain, this one less damaged.

Finally, Fezandipiti was on the right. He had the same dark coloring as his allies. The bird Pokémon had more of the pink highlights than the others, with long lashes and beautiful markings on his body. Around Fezandipiti's body was the same chain, but with no damages. The Pokémon likely valued the chain as if it were itself.

On further inspection, the Loyal 3 didn't look heroic or even kind. They all had that same malicious demeanor and gave off a menacing aura.

Kieran's thoughts were interrupted when one of the members, Okidogi, stepped forward to where Kieran was.

Kieran instinctively backed away. The Loyal 3 were villains. Wouldn't that mean that they'd attack Kieran?

Rather than attack Kieran, Okidogi seemed... more curious than anything. It sniffed at the boy before stopping.

Kieran watched with slight confusion as the Loyal 3 seemed to be discussing amongst themselves. Then, without warning, they took off towards Kitakami Hall in great haste.

"Wha- Hey! You can't just leave me here!" Kieran yelled. He took off running after the trio, determined to get some answers.

Eventually, Kieran caught up with the Loyal 3. He stood in front of them, out of breath.

"Stop running." He said, panting. "I want answers.

The Loyal 3 didn't seen to care. They seemed preoccupied with something else. They weren't even looking at Kieran.

They weren't even looking at Kieran.... that meant....

Hello, Kieran.

Kieran spun around and came face-to-face with the mysterious Pokémon from earlier.

"It's you again! What... what do you want?" Kieran asked, confused and a bit angry. He was tired of being ignored by everyone. Why wouldn't anyone tell him anything?

The Pokémon answered, its voice echoing in Kieran's mind.

I want to help you, Kieran.

Kieran blinked in confusion. This Pokémon.... why would it want to help Kieran of all people? Sure, it gave him the mochi, and it told him to take the Teal Mask to Loyalty Plaza.... but why?

The Pokémon seemed to be reading Kieran's mind. It spoke again in a cheerful tone.

It's an exchange, you see. You helped bring back my Chained, and awakened me from my dormant state. So now, I get to help repay the favor! I'm here to help you, Kieran!

The boy was curious. "What kind of help are you talking about?"

The Pokémon continued its offer.

You see, I have a special power. I can grant the desires of those I deem worthy, and I'm offering my help to you! What is it you want? Fortune? Fame? Smarts? Anything you want, I can provide.

The offer sounded too good to be true. Kieran knew that there had to be a catch. There always was one in these kinds of situations.

He put on a brave face, and looked the Pokémon in the eye.

"What's the catch?"

The Pokémon was silent for a moment. It was likely hiding something....

Oh, there was definitely a catch. And Kieran knew that the Pokémon wasn't going to tell him.

Kieran wasn't interested in making any shady deals and risk losing his soul, or dying, or whatever fate would befell him.

"I refuse your offer. I'm sorry, but I can do this on my own."

And with that said, Kieran walked past the Pokémon and to Mossui Town, leaving it and the Loyal 3 behind.

He didn't need help from a random shady Pokémon. He could do this on his own.

....Right?

Dokutaro's POV

So he refused my offer. No worries. He'll realize soon enough, and then he will come back, begging for my help.

It's only a matter of time. Besides, I've waited hundreds of years for this, who's to say I can't wait a little bit longer?

His time will come.

FINALLY

I would've gotten this done sooner if it weren't for writers block

The drawing will be out sometime today or tomorrow

As always, feel free to send an ask or reblog if ya want to! I enjoy it a lot!

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sheepwithspecs · 2 months

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Echar Agua al Mar: Chapter 2

|| DP Coco (2017) || Rated T ||

Ao3 link

For Imelda, trying to prevent Héctor from coming back into her life is like throwing water into the sea: pointless. With her family keen to accept the strange musician, and a challenge she can hardly refuse, she soon finds herself caught up in the continuation of a romance decades in the making. [Updates every Saturday]

The following morning, the Rivera shoemakers were as productive as any cobbler could hope to be. Wrapped up in their own thoughts, everyone was diligent—and silent—as they worked. Music had been pushed from their minds, replaced by the excitement of Imelda’s suitor. Or, rather, soon-to-be suitor. For the first time in most of their memories, their dear Mamá Imelda had a gentleman caller!

“No silly jokes today?” Imelda eyed her oddly stoic brothers as she passed the workbench. She stood at the head of the bench, carrying a basket of orders to deliver. “You’re being very quiet this morning. What’s the matter?” If the twins had flesh, they might have given up the game with nervous sweat. As it was, they managed to shake their heads without so much as cracking a smile.

“Nothing, Imelda.”

“Nothing at all.”

“Well….” She stared at them a moment longer before turning to the door. “I’ll be gone most of the morning, making these deliveries. It might carry over into the afternoon.”

“But you’ll miss H—” Julio quickly pinched Rosita beneath the table, stopping her breathless exclamation in its tracks. “I-I mean, you’ll miss lunch!” she amended quickly.

“So?” Imelda narrowed her eyes, fingers tightening around the handle of her basket. “Is there a reason I should stay?” Rosita opened her mouth, but closed it again when she saw the twins shaking their heads just over Imelda’s shoulder.

“Erm… no, Mamá. There isn’t.”

“Then you can take care of yourselves for one day!” Imelda clicked her tongue in clear disapproval, shaking her head as she left. She practically stomped out of the gate, startling a well-dressed gentleman walking his poodle alebrije. The man shakily tipped his hat to her before peering into the workshop, wondering what on earth might have caused the woman to be so angry, and in such a hurry at that.

“Ugh!” Victoria copied her grandmother’s movements, hands on her hips. “Who is she kidding? Just say “I’ll be out until Héctor leaves.” and keep it at that. She’s acting like a coward.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say about your Mamá Imelda,” Julio reproached her gently. “Even if it is true.” Victoria stared at him over her spectacles, her expression unrepentant.

“What’s the harm in seeing Papá Héctor?” Rosita sighed, not taking either side.

“That’s easy.” Felipe picked up his hammer, testing its weight in his palm. “If she sees Héctor, she’ll give in.” Oscar looked at him in surprise, and they both began to laugh.

“I was just thinking the same thing!” Oscar grinned widely at his twin. “Do you remember the time when—?”

“I do!” Felipe laughed even harder. “The look on Mamá’s face when she saw the trellis hanging by a stem—”

“And don’t forget Papá! Remember how he threw the shoehorn? How it dented the gate?”

“Stop! Oh, stop!” Felipe grabbed his sides as he fell into a fit of hysterics. “I can’t take it! I’m going to fall apart!”

“What on earth is wrong with you two?” Victoria put down her needle, eyeing her uncles in shock. They were nearly in a heap of bones on the floor, crying with laughter so that they could not get their feet back underneath them. It took them a few minutes to answer, as they kept bursting into new peals of laughter each time their eyes met.

“When we were young,” Oscar finally explained, wiping his eyes, “Imelda was very much the same way she is now. Whenever Héctor tried to call on her, she would find some errand for Mamá, or suddenly come down with a headache, or—”

“Running off to the plaza,” Felipe added as he took his seat. “Or to the river. Anything to get away from him. One time, she even climbed out the window when Mamá insisted that Héctor come inside.”

“The second floor window, mind you!”

“Whatever did she do that for?” Rosita laughed. The twins glanced at one another, nonexistent brows furrowed in thought.

“We don’t know!” they finally admitted with a simultaneous shrug. “After all, it was just silly old Héctor.”

“¡Qué payaso!” Felipe mimicked in a high-pitched shriek. “That’s what she always said when she saw him coming down the lane. She wasn’t wrong, I suppose. Héctor’s always been a little strange.”

“He still is, if you ask me.” Oscar rubbed his mustache. “But he finally wore her down. One night, he climbed up the rose trellis in the back garden and pecked on the window… the wrong window, at first. Isn’t that right?” he snorted.

“We had to give him directions,” Felipe agreed. “Poor guy.”

“What happened next?” Rosita asked, fully immersed in the story. The shoes lay forgotten on the bench, her head propped up by both hands as she listened.

“Erm, well…. We can’t tell you everything, of course,” Oscar mumbled, fidgeting with his hat.

“Right, we definitely weren’t eavesdropping.”

“Anyway, there was this enormous crash, and the trellis broke in two.”

“When we looked out the window, Héctor had fallen—or maybe Imelda pushed him, who knows—”

“Either way, Héctor was hanging by his trousers a good… hmm…” Oscar took one arm off his torso, lifting it with the other and measuring just how far the poor suitor was from freedom. “About that far from the ground. That’s when Papá found him.”

“No, Mamá found him,” Felipe argued. “She had him on the ground by the time Papá came around the corner.”

“I thought Imelda was the one who helped him off. She shoved him from the window, remember? We were holding her by the nightgown.”

“I’m telling you, it was Mamá! She grabbed Héctor by the ear and yanked him off the trellis so that she could reach him with her shoe.”

“She did not! She told him to make a run for it!”

“That was Imelda!” Felipe huffed. “Are you senile or something? Imelda leaned out of the window and yelled “Hey, payaso, you’d better run!” because Papá had the shoehorn in his hand.”

“Wait… you’re right!” Oscar scratched his skull. The two of them looked up to see the rest of the family staring at them as though they’d sprouted another pair of heads. “In any case, they were married soon after that.”

“I wonder if Héctor remembers that night. Imelda was in a lot of trouble the next morning, wasn’t she?”

“I’m surprised he bothered to show his face after that,” Victoria muttered. “What with the shoehorn and all.” Felipe shook his head.

“No, you don’t understand. Papá liked Héctor. He threw the shoehorn because he had to. Daughter’s propriety and all. The neighbors might have started gossiping.” Seeing Victoria’s dubious expression, he let out another bark of laughter. “Do you really think he was foolish enough to chase away the one man brave enough to court Imelda?”

“Crazy enough to court her, more like.”

“Un poco loco.” Oscar twirled his finger next to his nonexistent ear.

“Well I think it’s all very romantic.” Rosita let out a happy sigh. “Who knew Mamá Imelda had such taste in husbands? It’s such a shame she won’t give him a second chance.”

Midday passed, and with no signs of Imelda. Victoria’s words were coming true, and they all agreed that they would probably not see her until she was sure that Héctor had left for the day.

“Perhaps it’s better this way,” Julio said as they cleared the table after lunch. “Now we won’t have to make up any lies.”

Work slowed to a crawl as sunlight began to enter the western window. Everyone fell back into a terse silence, on pins and needles as they awaited the arrival of their newest “customer”. The fact that he arrived at the same time every day only made matters worse; if Héctor had been sporadic, they might have rested easier. Now, they could only wait for the clock. Each tick-tock was a tiny hammer against their skulls as they waited, thinking about their unofficial-official patriarch.

Being the ones who’d known Héctor as a living man, Oscar and Felipe had been on the front row seats for his odd courting style. They were also the only ones with memories of the brief marriage that had followed. The twins liked their brother in law just fine; the married years had been happy ones, with Héctor’s guitar and Imelda’s singing, and their little niece dancing for them all. Music had filled the house from corner to corner, bringing joy and happiness to an otherwise subdued existence.

Such a long time ago, and yet they still remembered how happy their sister had been. Imelda had been radiant, so in love, with a glow that seemed to constantly surround her whenever Héctor was at home. If she ever had reason to complain, in those days, well—it was far easier to take a scolding from her back then. But they also remembered that aura fading, dimming a little more with each day that passed without contact from her absent husband. No letter, no visit, no anything, until one day the light was gone from her eyes entirely. No one could understand why Héctor would just… leave like that. Had they been fooled by his charming smiles and beautiful songs?

Imelda was dry-eyed. She held her grief-stricken daughter, convinced a widowed shoemaker to teach her the craft, and haggled with the grocer and creditors until they could get some money under their belts. A woman like that, in charge of her own household, had no tears to waste over a no-good musician. If they found tearstained leather in the morning’s rubbish, if her eyes were bloodshot and her mouth trembling, well… it was easier to pretend not to see. Their sister’s pride was at stake, and they wouldn’t take that from her.

When she announced that the Riveras were now a family of shoemakers, they remained silent. When she banished music from the household, they weren’t surprised.

Standing side by side at the workbench, the same way they had since the first strike of their hammers against a heel, the two eyed one another thoughtfully. They were twins; they did not need lips or skin to read the other’s thoughts. They only needed eyes, and their eyes were saying the same thing: Imelda needed music. She needed Héctor. When she sang in front of that crowd, when she smiled at him and was happy once more—for that one fleeting moment, the glow had returned. Not fully, per se, but the spark of a glow. Flint on steel. That spark could ignite again, but only if Imelda’s flint struck Héctor’s steel. They belonged together.

Rosita had glimpsed that spark, too. She could recite the old story from memory, having heard it time and time again whenever she was scolded for humming in the workshop. Coco had been generous to her papá, painting him as a gentle man who’d simply vanished from the face of the earth. Even as an adult, knowing the ways of adults, she never considered that her father had done anything immoral.

Perhaps, Rosita thought to herself, if Héctor plays again, Imelda will sing and dance for us. She seemed… different, when she was singing. Lighter, somehow.

Julio had been on less curious than Rosita about Imelda’s past, but he’d known from the start that music was absolutely forbidden in the household. He had accepted it without a struggle, choosing the love of his beloved Coco over a life of song. And it had been a happy enough life, even without the music. His daughters had never seemed to want what they could not have… not like Miguel, who seemed to have too much of Héctor in his genes.

Perhaps it was that love he held for his wife that gave him such sympathy for Héctor’s plight. He loved Coco with all the warmth of an old marriage, no matter how many years they’d been apart. It was clear to him that Héctor loved his wife, too. But whereas Coco was Coco, Mamá Imelda was… well, she was Mamá Imelda. Things would be much harder for him in the long run.

Victoria had less enthusiasm or sympathy for Héctor. Mamá Imelda was a fastidious woman, not one to be swept off her feet… especially by a skinny scarecrow of a man with unpolished bones and overstretched suspenders. He was goofy, poorly dressed, and one misstep away from being thrown into jail for his various schemes; he frequented Shantytown and the lower reaches of the city, he was barefoot— The list went on and on.

And yet…. Those same clumsy fingers had strummed magic from the guitar that night, and when he smiled at Mamá Imelda… well, perhaps he was not quite so ugly then. This man had a power over her grandmother that she’d never seen anyone else wield, either alive or dead. Furthermore, he had the power to make her—Victoria Rivera—love music. With him in the workshop, she could sing as she threaded her needle. She could even dance, if she wanted to. It fulfilled something she’d been denied all her life. It was important.

“Hello, everyone!”

The Riveras jumped in place, too lost in their own thoughts to realize it was time for Héctor’s daily appearance. He stepped into the workshop with more confidence, only for it to vanish as he looked around the room to find it missing one person. Clearing his throat, he swallowed back the pain before facing them with his usual grin.

“Mamá Imelda really is out today,” Rosita rushed to assure him, ushering him inside and shutting the door firmly behind him. “She’s delivering finished orders and probably won’t be back until this evening.”

“I’m feeling a sense of déjà vu,” Héctor muttered, but seemed to lighten up all the same. “Oh, well. That’s life, isn’t it?” He tossed his hat onto the table like a Frisbee; Rosita picked it up, dusting it off before attempting to fix the worst of the fraying edges.

“I am sorry, Héctor,” she sighed, putting a hand to her cheek. “I just don’t know how you’re going to win Mamá Imelda’s heart if she won’t let you talk to her.”

“She’s got her mind set on avoiding you completely,” Felipe added, wagging his hammer in Héctor’s direction. “And you know how she is once she sets her mind to something.”

“Oye, didn’t I tell you to leave that to me?” Héctor had that sly look in his eyes again. “If she wants to run, let her. I have more than enough experience with chasing her down.”

“Oh, yes,” Victoria drawled, arching her brows as she looked him over. “I’m sure you do. We’ve heard about the shoehorn.”

“The—?” A momentary confusion, and then he burst into laughter. “Oh, right!” he wheezed, leaning against the wall for support. “Those were the days, all right! But that wasn’t entirely my fault, you know. I tried to find her beforehand, but she was always gone.” He waved his hand at the workshop. “Like I said, déjà vu. Nothing changes, eh?”

“Only that we don’t have a trellis for you to break.”

“Ah, well. I wouldn’t worry about that.” Héctor took a running leap at the workbench, landing nimbly in the center of the table. Julio barely managed to yank his work out of harm’s reach, his stool tipping backwards in the process; Rosita lunged for him, grabbing hold of his mustache and using it as a handle to help him regain his balance. “I’m quite athletic, you see. Especially now that I can’t be hurt.” He did a little jig along the table, leaping over their tools. Victoria grabbed her scissors before they could be trod on, standing up in order to better intercept him.

“We see, we see,” she huffed, snipping threads from the ragged edge of his pants as he passed by. “It seems to me that you’re a little too energetic. That’s bound to get you into trouble.”

“You have no idea!” He turned and made the return trip back up the table, shaking his head. “The things I tried to cross that bridge. Let me tell you about the time when Chicharrón and I—”

Before he could say another word, the door slammed open to reveal a very annoyed Mamá Imelda. Héctor paused mid-kick, a sheepish grin on his face as he carefully lowered his leg. She looked around the room in a state of shock, mouth hanging open, before narrowing in on him like a hawk sizing up its prey.

“Héctor.” The man in question looked around at the faces of the family, frozen in expressions of terror, and then back at his wife.

“Imelda!” He threw his arms open wide, as though he expected her to join him amidst the scattered tools and bits of leather. “I—er—I love your dress.”

“W-We can explain!” Rosita rushed to take the basket from her arms, hovering just outside of shoe-throwing distance. “Héctor was just—you see, he was—”

“Why was the door shut?” Imelda didn’t seem to notice Rosita at all, her arms crossing over her ribcage as she glared at Héctor. “I don’t remember saying the shop could close early today.”

“We were just… um….” Julio waved his hands in helpless circles, trying to think up a good excuse.

“They were working, of course.” Everyone turned to stare at Héctor, whose eyes darted about the shop before landing on Imelda with a surprisingly determined look. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, stepping inside and shutting the door neatly behind her. Everyone shrank back from soft click of the lock. The twins nearly slid beneath the workbench, nervously clutching at one another’s arms. When Imelda shut the door, it was only because she didn’t want anyone outside hearing what was about to happen.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Héctor,” she warned, starting towards the workbench with measured footsteps. He took a few steps back, raising his hands defensively.

“I’m not lying!” he assured her quickly. “They were working on my boots!”

“Do you take me for a fool?” In one easy movement, her left shoe was off her foot and in her hand. Héctor dismounted the workbench on the opposite side, backing away quickly as she stalked towards him. The twins scrambled out of his way, nearly knocking Rosita off her feet as they fled for the landing. Julio hauled his sister to the side as Héctor began another trek around the table, always making sure to stay at least two corners away from Imelda.

“What?” Of course not, honest!” Héctor ducked as the shoe was thrown, missing him by a hair and flying to land with a solid thunk against the far wall. He glanced over his shoulder at it, one eye still watching for any sign of a repeat performance. An idea popped into his head and he smiled fetchingly, leaning against the workbench with his weight on his upper arms. His vertebrae split apart, legs sliding under the table to wobble before her like a lopsided spider.

“Listen, mi amor.” Imelda made an audible sound of disgust, eyes locked on his legs as she groped along the bench for something else to hit him with. “I was only taking the time to show our lovely family how much I run and jump around all day,” he explained in a sugary tone, his legs leaping about in place. “All day long I’m moving, up and over—” He leapfrogged over the workbench, landing expertly on his lower half before grabbing the startled woman and twirling her into a waltz. “That’s why I need a good, stout pair of boots. I can’t be running around with blisters on my feet, can I?”

While he had effectively danced her into silence, her anger forgotten in the wake of being spun around like a child, the mention of ill-fitting boots was enough to bring it all back again. She reared back, pushing him so that his arms came loose from their sockets and fell to the ground in a shower of bones.

“You listen to me, Héctor!” she shouted, hands on her hips. “In all my years as a shoemaker, no one—and I mean no one—has ever worn a pair of Rivera boots and complained of blisters!”

“I believe it.” He frowned at her, kneeling down to pick up his arm bones before shoving them back onto his shoulders haphazardly. “Of course they wouldn’t complain. They’d be too afraid of what you might do to them.” The rest of the family watched in utter amazement. Just who was this man? Who was this fool, who tasted Mamá Imelda’s wrath and still spoke out of turn?

“Loco,” Oscar whispered to Felipe.

“Always was,” he whispered back.

“Rivera boots do not have blisters. They fit perfectly, each and every time. That’s why we are the best of the best!”

“Okay then: prove it.” Imelda held a finger to his face, mouth open, before snapping her jaw shut with an audible crack. She turned to the workbench, jerking the measuring tape from Julio’s place and bending to one knee with a scowl.

“I will prove it!” she snapped, measuring his left foot with sharp jerks. “I will make your boots myself, and you will find that they’re the best boots to ever grace these big feet.” She continued to mutter to herself as she measured, mixed swears and insults. “Tch! Look at these bones,” she clucked, thumping his tarsal in disdain. “It’s as if you’ve never worn a pair of shoes in your life.”

“Ah, so you do care!” The expression she gave in return would have soured milk, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I care… about my reputation as a shoemaker.” She rose to her feet, smacking aside his proffered hand. “Now get out of my shop, Héctor.”

“Right now?” Imelda threw the measuring tape onto the workbench, picking up one of the twin’s hammers instead. “I see.” Héctor inched towards the door, grabbing his hat as he passed Rosita’s station. “Is it too much to ask for a goodbye kiss?”

“Get out!” The hammer fell laughingly short of its mark; she clearly had not tried to hit him with it. Still, it spurred him into action; Héctor jammed the hat over his messy hair, throwing the door open and dancing down the front walk. Even a crazy man knew when to call it quits. Or… did he?

“I’ll be back!” he called from the gate, blowing her a kiss through the open door. Imelda started out after him and he broke into a run, leaping over the gate and cutting sideways through an alley.

“Payaso.” Imelda picked the hammer off the ground, rubbing out a scuff on the floor with the heel of her shoe. Looking around, she realized quickly that she was now the center of attention. “What?!” she spat, waving her hands at them. “What are you looking at? Get back to work!”

“Oh, Mamá Imelda!” Rosita has stars in her eyes, hands clasped below her chin.

“What? What!?” She had no blood left to blush with, but it was clear to anyone who looked at her that Imelda was mortified at the attention.

“That Héctor….”

“What about him!?”

“He’s such a sweetheart, no?” Victoria blew out a breath between her teeth, shaking her head as she picked up her needle. Imelda graced Rosita with a cold stare, her mouth set in a thin line.

“No. Now do as I say, and get back to work.”

#coco #disney pixar coco #dp coco #imector #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #echar agua al mar #Héctor Rivera #Imelda Rivera #Mamá Imelda #pixar coco

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eridanisanenby · 1 year

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Atlantis Attacks

Ant Ant

Arkham Asylum

Agent A (Alfred)

Amity Arkham

Amadeus Arkham

All-American comics

Baxter Building

Bombastic-Bag man

robert Bruce Banner

james Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes

Black Blot/Blackagar Boltagon

elizabeth “Betsy” Braddock

Brian Braddock

william “Billy” Braddock

Billy Batson

Beast Boy

Blue Beetle

Boston Brand

BlueBird

Bouncing Boy

Carl “Crusher” Creel

Captain Carter

nathan Christopher Charles summers/Cable

Curtis "Curt" Connors

Caped Crusader

oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot

Captain Cold

Captain Carrot

Catherine Cobert

Cressida Clarke

Crocky the Crodile

Doctor Darrk

Doctor Destiny

Dorthy Duncan

Ding-Dong Daddy

yankee Doodle Dandy

Dinah Drake

Darla Dudley

Damien Darhk

(new) Fantastic Four

Four Freedoms plaza

Fin Fang Foom

Freedom Fighters

Freddy Freeman

Felix Faust

Guardian of the Galaxy

Green Goblin

Guy Gardener

Gorilla Grodd

Gotham Gazette

Gotham Globe

Gotham General

Green Guardsman

Golden Glider

Glorious Gordon Godfrey

Happy Hogan

Hank Hensley

Hank Hall (Hawk)

Henry “Hank” Henshaw

Hank Hall

Hippolyta "lyta" Hall

Hank Haywood

Jessica Jones

John Jonah Jameson

Katherine “Kate” Kane

Kristen Kringle

Kip Kettering

Lacie Lorraine

Loki Laufeyson

Lunella Lafayette

Lonnie Lincoln

Lois Lane

Lex Luther

Lighting Lad

Linda Lee

Luma Lynai

Lana Lang

Laura Lang

Louise Lincoln

dinah Laurel Lance

Linda Lang

Lena Luther

MasterMind

May Melinda

Miles Morales (og 42)

Meows Morales

Michael Morbius

Multiverse of Madness

MilkMan Man

Mateo Maximoff

Marya Maximoff

Mole Man

Mister Mxyptlk “Mxy”

M’gann M’orzz/Megan Morse/Miss Martian

Mia “Maps” Mizoguchi

Mary Marvel

Miguel Montez

Music Master

Mr. Miracle

Mirror Master

Mad Mod

Malcolm Merlyn

Maria Mercedes Mooney

Matches Malone

Monsieur Mallah

Nia Nal

Olivia Octavius (doctor Octopus/doc Ock)

Pepper Potts

Peter Parker(s)

Pabitr Prabhakav

Peni Parker

Peter Porker

Pedro Peña

Penny Plunderer

Quasar’s Quantum bands

Quentin Quale

Reed Richards

Rocket Raccoon

Richard Rider

Roberto “Robbie” Reyes (og 69)

Rachel Roth (Raven)

Ronald Raymond

SlapStick

Sun Spider

Scarlet Spider

Serpent Society

Super Skrull

Silver Sable/Silvija Sablinova

Sinister Syndicate

Sinister Six

Steven Strange (dr Strange)

Sybil Silverlock

Susan “Sue” Storm

Spider-Society

Samuel Sterns

Sebastian Shaw

Suicide Squad

Star Sapphire

Silver St. Cloud

Secret Six

Pter Ptarker (TT)

Taneleer Tivan

Tyros The Terrible (Terrax)

Teen Titans

Titans Tomorrow

Tom Turbine

Traci Thirteen

Unus the Untouchable

Vicki Vale

Valerie Vale

Web Warriors

Wade Winston Wilson

Wallace “Wally” West

Wallace “ace” West II

Wonder Woman

Warlock the Wizard

Wizards & Warlocks

Zatanna Zatara

Zachary Zatara

Zilius Zox

Duela Dent Napier Nigma

Cooper Coen/Web Weaver

Matthew Michael “Matt” Murdock/DareDevil

Kamala Khan/Ms. Marvel

Otto Octavius (doctor Octopus/doc Ock)/Superior Spider-man

Victor Von doom/Doctor Doom

Warren Worthington III/ArchAngel

Cassandra “Cass” Cain/Black Bat

J’onn J’onnz/John Jones/Hank Henshaw/Martian Manhunter

Kei Kawade/Kaiju Kid(/Kid Kaiju)

Mitchell Mayo/Condiment King

Max Mercury/Windrunner Whip WhirlWind

Red Robin/Joker Junior

Cletus Cortland Kassidy (Carnage)

Clark Kent

Conner “Kon” Kent

Chemical King

Carrie Kelley

Killer Croc

Karen Crane

Seaboard City

Total alliteration: 207

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electric-alt-cookie · 9 months

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LOG 3202:21;81

The man Cyborg loved was going to be taken away from them like that. They had dented the door to the prison, but their own metal was dented and busted. They were slumped into the corner trying to undo the damage that they had done to themselves trying to break free from this intergalactic hell they were put into.

White Choco was doing the same. She was clenching her fists together before making one last punch to the wall. The metal on her knuckles was slowly being chipped away. There was nobody there to give her strength. How could she give herself strength after losing so much energy trying to escape her cell?

The two of them heard the bells from outside. It was time.

A group of guards came into the room to round up all the prisoners, which at the moment, was only Cyborg and White Choco. Cyborg wanted oh so badly to use this opportunity to escape, but all their energy was sapped up. It was so unfair of Aloe to let go of Lemon and keep them stuck there, but they were too tired to be mad.

The two were forced into handcuffs and escorted outside. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, considering Cyborg and White Choco knew each other. They weren’t exactly close, but maybe now they could bond a little more.

“Psst,” Cyborg whispered to White Choco as they were being walked out, “So why did they lock you up in here? And why didn’t I see you get captured?”

White Choco seemed a little lost in her own thoughts before she lifted her head to face Cyborg.

“Something about not being compatible… I always assumed it was because I’m more robot than cookie now… but perhaps…”

She trailed off without elaborating which left Cyborg confused.

“...Perhaps… perhaps what?”

“If it’s not that… I believe my family ancestry has been fabricated in some way. We might be half-siblings…”

Cyborg just shook their head. Their voice raised slightly. ”Why does that matter? You’re still his sister. Look, we can figure it out later if you’re still worried about it.”

“It does not matter in these circumstances, however, it muddies things with the Old House of Raspberry…” White Choco trailed off again. “I know I shouldn’t hold onto the past but-...”

The guards shoved White Choco down slightly.

“Shut up. We’re arriving at our destination shortly.” One of them ordered. Cyborg sneered in retaliation and looked at White with a worried expression. White Choco was once again looking down at the ground, seemingly lost in thought. Cyborg wished they could try to help, but if they couldn’t get inside her head, there was no way they could know what was bothering her.

…

The wedding bells had rang.

Aloe and Lemon were called for the momentous occasion immediately. This was it. This was the big day. This was the day that everyone had been dreading.

What was a positive moment on Earth quickly turned negative for everyone, including Lemon.

After that talk with Starflower, Lemon could feel something going to happen. There was just a sinking feeling in his stomach. Hundreds of people once again gathered near the castle and thousands more in the plaza. Of course, Lemon and Aloe had front-row seats, courteously given to them by King Z.Starflower himself.

Aloe and Lemon sat down next to each other in the audience. Lemon lifted his hand up slightly, wanting to voice the sinking feeling underneath his circuitry, but put it back down quickly. That was something that was between Lemon and Starflower. Aloe looked just as nervous though. Their body had been slightly liquifying in real-time. They took a couple of deep breaths right before Lemon lightly put his hand on their shoulder.

“...I’m sorry, Android. I suppose I’m slightly put off by the idea of Y.Raspberry Iced Tea becoming a royal…” Aloe put their hand on top of Lemon’s, “Y.Tea has never liked his highness, Z.Starflower…”

Lemon nodded. He could only assume that Aloe was also afraid of something happening to Z.Starflower.

“Whatever happens now, I’ll be right at your side,” Lemon stated, not really thinking about what he just said, but he felt his hand squeeze slightly, indicating that Aloe was on board with it.

The two of them watched as the main lights in the castle dimmed and a spotlight turned on. A new royal emerged from the shadows, a much taller one. His hands were behind his back as he stood tall with an icy glare that could pierce through any organism alive. The crowd went wild, chanting his name.

“Z.Clematis!”

His head wings flapped, taking in the scene beforehand. He cleared his throat. His voice boomed loudly and proudly.

“Welcome, all, from A to Z. I hope you all are excited to be here as I am today. As everyone is aware, our first royal wedding in a millennium is taking place at this very moment today. This auspicious day not only unites us as a planet but also is one of the very rare instances that we will be crowning one of our beloved generals as part of Bluestar Royalty.”

Starflower walked up behind Clematis and the two exchanged a bow.

“As you all may be aware, Bluestar originated with three royals. One who could grant wishes, one who was a great warrior, and the third who could generate power of their own violation. For the first time in history, we are celebrating a fourth addition after Z.Clematis and I, Z.Starflower, have been serving for eons. We hope that you will accept them with open arms.”

Cyborg and White watched the two royals give their speech. Cyborg could barely keep their head up. They just had to sit and watch.

The doors flew open to the ceremonial room as if on cue. The spotlight moved to illuminate the doorway and out-stepped one of the most composed individuals the planet has ever seen. The light shone on him as if they were a celestial being, and Cyborg could not believe their eyes.

“...Knighty…?” They whimpered out from under their breath. This was the first time they saw him after his conversion. Their eyes widened as they witnessed Knight all dolled up and regal. Arms in front of him, hands folded together so politely, head slightly tilted down in politeness. They could not believe their eyes… This wasn’t their Knighty. This wasn’t him at all…

He stopped at the podium near where Clematis and Starflower were standing. His demeanor was vastly different from both royals. Cyborg had to think that something was wrong. He must be being controlled in some sort of way, or maybe he’s been brainwashed? What if it was both? Cyborg revved up their boots and tried to push themselves to get closer.

“Knighty! Knightyy!” They got themselves off the ground for only a few seconds before getting shoved back onto the floor. Their face was planted into the ground and their arms pinned behind their back. “Get off me!!” They shrieked trying to fight the guards pinning them down. It was now or never. They needed to save Knight before anything else happened, but their strength was depleted. The NeoAzullians were much stronger than they were.

The struggling stopped once they heard the doors open again. Raspberry Iced Tea stood proudly with their hands behind their back. The moment felt so long to Cyborg, and to put salt in the wound, they could feel Tea glancing back at them with the biggest smirk.

Clematis and Starflower's words became a muffled mess in Cyborg’s processors. The whole thing was unfolding in front of their very eyes.

“Y.Raspberry Iced Tea shall be now known as…”

On the other side, Aloe's heart started sinking hearing the royal's words. They couldn't believe that Tea succeeded in their plan to become a royal on Bluestar. They clenched their fist knowing what power they had over the citizens. Over the royals.

Lemon was connecting the dots faster than Aloe. Despite not being a NeoAzullian, during his earlier spar with Tea on the spaceship he caught a glimpse of who they truly were, just by how they fought.

“...Z.Raspberry Iced Tea. They shall rule alongside their partner, Z.Mocha.”

The crowd erupted with cheering and celebration. People were waving flags and jumping for their new ruler. People clang drinks of liquid aluminum together, unknowing of either Z.Mocha's origins or Z.Tea's desire to rule selfishly. Only the four in the audience seemed to be unhappy amongst the ruckus.

Tea stepped forward.

“I am honored to be here today as one of Bluestar’s royalty. I could not have been here if it had not been for Z.Starflower’s kind gestures or Z.Clematis’s faith in me as his top general.” Tea looked behind themself to take a gander at all the royals behind them. “I have worked hard to obtain this position, and I will make good use of this opportunity.”

There was a nod of approval from Z.Clematis. He slightly raised his hand to end the ceremony, however, Tea interjected swiftly.

“Before this meeting is over, I would like Z.Starflower to step forward beside me…”

Aloe leaned over the railing they were sitting behind to attempt to get a closer look, “didn’t they say something about overthrowing King Z.Starflower on the spaceship?” The scientist felt panic building up within their body.

“Don’t know. I was either asleep or imprisoned at the time.”

Lemon was unsure if he should tell Aloe of the omen. Maybe this wasn’t the big event Starflower was talking about. The android could feel seeds of doubt within his circuitry, but he leaned over the rail alongside Aloe as a way of trying to comfort them.

“Lemon… I…” Aloe started, but they weren’t able to finish their sentence before their attention snapped back to the ceremony at hand.

Tea raised their hand and created a spark of electricity out of their hand. Several flashes started forming around them in a circle. Their shiny new cape flowed in the wind that was created by the vortex of bolts. Their eyes under their visor narrowed as they smirked.

“Augh-!” The king kneeled down on the ground after being struck with what felt like a taser. He looked up at Tea who was now standing over him. With a swift kick, Starflower was down laying on his side. His leg started to drip into a puddle of liquid metal. The crowd gasped, along with Aloe and Lemon rushing out of their seats to go down to see what happened. Clematis stomped towards Tea but was quickly stopped by Tea holding up their arm as a warning sign for Clematis to stay back.

“Sire! Sire!” Aloe pushed through hordes of people to the stairs to try to get Starflower some help. For once in his life, Lemon was behind them getting pushed by the crowd panicking. The scientist was too fast for him to keep up and the two got separated quickly.

By the time Aloe got down there, Starflower was reduced to a head and an arm. Aloe dipped their hands in the puddle of metal of their previous king with tears welding up in their eyes. “S-Sire… I can fix you…! I can save you…! Just like Cyborg! And Lemon! Don’t die on me please!”

Starflower simply shook his head.

“V.Aloe… Need not to worry…” His arm started to submerge in the large puddle.

Aloe kept trying to gather the liquid on the ground back into one mass hurriedly but to no avail. They tried picking up his head, but the puddle had the consistency of water. Starflower’s eyes finally closed as Aloe could feel the matter slipping away through between their fingertips. The only thing left of the great king was his long coat on the ground, beaten and dirtied by Tea’s boots as they smirked down at the scientist.

“Good riddance… Finally,” They looked proud of their work and looked up towards the panicking crowd again. “Things are going to be run differently around here now. Better than how Starflower used to run things.” They turned towards Clematis who was in the shadows now, feeling slightly ashamed. That was his general who just assassinated his co-worker. Tea just simply looked at their hand in amusement as Clematis shied away from his throne.

“Z.Clematis shall be known as… hm… X.Clematis now.” Tea chuckled to themself. “Thus, making it so I'm the only one in charge other than poor little Mocha over here…”

“How could you do this to him?!” Aloe shrieked at Tea as tears welled up in their eyes.

Tea didn’t even look at the V-class as they laughed at them. “It was about time he kicked the bucket! This planet was going to die if he was in control any longer!”

“Is this what you wanted all along? For Z.Starflower to die?! What would that even accomplish? What do you gain from that?!” The scientist stood up and stumbled. They looked into Tea’s visor with contempt. Their voice shook from the emotional turmoil that they had to endure. “I’ve lost a lot of lives up until now, but all of them I could fix, but this one…”

Aloe growled and clenched their fists before charging towards the new Z-class. Tears were streaming down their face and were starting to form rust on the sides of their eyes.

Tea simply just moved out of the way as Aloe tried their best to throw a few punches, even mocking them as they moved their matter away from Aloe’s fists. They laughed as they kicked them right in the core, causing them to stumble backward.

“You’re pitiful, you know?” Tea mocked them, even attempting to scare them with a bolt of electricity, “It’s no wonder we left you on Earth for so long! You make Bluestar look bad with your fighting abilities. How are you even a V-class?”

Aloe stepped back heaving in rage after seeing Tea’s electrical abilities activate. “L-Lemon! I need you!”

Lemon tried to catch up to Aloe as best as he could, but he was lost in the crowd now. He felt a tap on his shoulder before whipping around to face the individual who tapped him. He couldn't identify the person through his sensors since there were many bodies, but before he could get a good look, his optics were shut off suddenly. “Wait- What are you-”

After no response from Lemon, Aloe looked at their opponent before dropping their fighting stance. This was a calculated retreat.

They looked at Starflower’s puddle one last time before running away from the scene. They needed to find Cyborg fast.

#mod tuscan posts #cookie run #cookie run au #cr robopocalypse au #lemon cookie #aloe cookie #cyborg cookie #white choco cookie #🌠 calamity from the cosmos (arc)#// this is giving real xen/ob/lade vibes my BROTHER IN CHRIST YOU ARE LISTENING TO XEN/OBL/ADE MUSIC #^ just so that wouldnt go in the tag #anyways listen to eclipse homecoming and drifting soul

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mako-designated-driver · 3 months

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Day #20: Hard in Hightown: Chapter One

By Varric Tethras

They say coin never sleeps, but anyone who’s walked the patrol of Hightown Market at midnight might disagree. The pickpockets and confidence men head to the taverns at dusk, the dwarven businessmen and nobles go back to their tiny palaces to fret over the ways they got cheated, and the market falls silent.

Donnen Brennokovic knew every angle of the market with his eyes closed. Twenty years of patrols had etched it into him so that he walked that beat even in his dreams. The recruit, Jevlan, was another story. The ring of steel striking stone told Donnen that the kid had stumbled into a column again. His new armor would be full of dents by sunrise.

“Torches would make this easier.” The sound of Jevlan hauling himself off the pavement was like a tinker’s cart crashing.

“Torches make you night-blind. You’ll adjust.” Donnen crossed the square to help the kid to his feet. A breeze scurried across the plaza, sending the banners and pennants shivering and carrying an old, familiar scent. Donnen stopped in his tracks. “Something’s wrong.” His voice was low, warning. He peered into the dark, up at the mezzanine just above them. “Follow me. Be ready for trouble.”

The two guards climbed the dark stairs and there, in a puddle of shadow, found the body. Gold-trimmed satin glittered through the blood.

“Get the captain,” Donnen sighed. “We’ve got a dead magistrate.”

#thinking about making a hard in hightown wiki because I am tired and busy and #anyway I'll probably sit down and organize this next week #dragon age #a codex a day keeps the dreadwolf away #dragon age dreadwolf #dragon age the veilguard

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bijouxbyandrea · 6 months

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Postcard Vintage City Hall and Memorial Plaza Oakland California Linen 0520.

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flock-of-cassowaries · 6 months

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So I’m reading my abusive lunatic father’s long-lost self-insert Bildungsroman, which he wrote in 1979, when he was approximately 28 years old; and it opens with a description of the building in which the story is set.

This description takes up two full, single-spaced pages of an 8x10 notebook.

There are so many words, but so few paragraph breaks; and so, so many details of the precise form of this ugly building, with only the meagerest of similes, no detectable attempts at humour or whimsy, and only a few widely-spaced hints at anything that seems like it could be even remotely relevant to the development of character or plot. Just two full pages of description of the structure of a haphazardly-designed 1970s high school building, as viewed from the parking lot.

If I were to set a story at my own high school (also an ugly, haphazardly-designed 1970s building), I would permit myself no more than 4-5 sentences to describe it.

Probably something like this:

>It was an ugly structure, devoid of any discernable form of symmetry. It was not immediately apparent to Perfectia McFlaw’less where the door was. Scanning the building for clues, she saw few windows - all of them tall, narrow slits. Her heart sank slightly at the prospect of the coming year.

Things I have (hopefully) established:

- It’s ugly.

- Seriously; this building is an affront to the human senses.

- It’s puzzling and non-intuitive in its structure, and not particularly user-friendly.

- It’s probably grim inside, and our self-insert protagonist isn’t super-jazzed about the prospect of spending the school year here.

(Astute readers may notice that this is very similar - especially in structure and level of detail - to the way that Douglas Adams describes Arthur Dent’s house in the opening of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I am not too proud to admit that. That book is one of my favourites.)

For contrast, here is a (heavily shortened) extract of what my dad wrote. This is just the first of the two pages he wrote describing this hideous edifice. I’ve skipped through about 60% of the final text, and I’m completely ignoring the text that he wrote and then crossed out (which contains even more details, somehow).

>From his Mini parked in the sixth row of the lot, Ivory Dad’ness Dementia Rightwingways stared glumly through the rain at the building before him.

OK. So far we’ve learned that our protagonist isn’t happy to be here, and that he drives a Mini, which may suggest something is not super-great in terms of his economic situation. A decent start.

(And yes, I had to change the protagonist name, because it’s a near-perfect anagram of my father’s own name.)

>It was 1200 feet long. At the north and south ends […] In the modern style, […] These, the technical and […] In the central sections […] brick monotony.

OK, so we’ve established that the building is large, relatively modern, and that our protagonist finds it aesthetically unpleasant.

But in the parts I’ve removed, we’ve also found out specifically what’s at the north and south ends (slightly taller sections), and what the plaza is made of (concrete), where the entrance is (off the plaza), what precisely the building is made of (more concrete, and also brick), and just… we cannot possibly need all this information. It cannot possibly all be in any way relevant to the plot; and it certainly isn’t enjoyable to read.

(This is all one big paragraph, by the way. One big, page-long paragraph.)

> At the near end […] the main entrance doors, patrolled by the security staff. Outside the entrance […] To the right of the plaza […] And, from that section, the newly constructed single-story, temporary wing extended […]

All right. The main entrance doors are being patrolled by security, which seems ominous, and the school has recently been expanded, which seems important, because peeking ahead, I can see that the central conflict of this seems to be that the school is bursting at the seams with students, and tension is high (at least in my dad’s paranoid, misanthropic little brain-pan; but, history shows, that was kind of always the case, because he had the neurochemistry of an overbred cocker spaniel with advanced rage syndrome; so grain of salt on narrator-reliability, here).

(There is still another entire page of description of the building. I can’t take it anymore. I need food. Fluids. Eye drops.)

Seriously, though. He’s killing me here. This is worse than most of the slightly-alarming high-melodrama My Chemical Romance angst-smut I read on LiveJournal during the semester I failed both Eng 102 and Calc 102.

How could it be that the man I always suspected was ultimately smarter and better than me sucked this much at something he spent 5-6 years getting a Master’s degree in?

Could it really be that he was always just… absolute bullshit? This whole time? And the only people who he could ever convince of the inflated image he had of himself were the captive and isolated audience of his wife and kid?

#my dad’s terrible novel #my dad’s a+ parenting #writing #writing architecture #writing descriptions of buildings #bad self insert

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